


Jumping at Shadows

by irene_heron (vysila)



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst and Humor, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-15 08:57:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vysila/pseuds/irene_heron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Han and Luke's vacation isn't going quite as planned.<br/>Written May 2006.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jumping at Shadows

The docking bay gate was unlatched. Not only unlocked but ajar. Like the last person in or out had been in a hurry, and that person sure as all hells hadn't been Han Solo. As he slipped through the narrow gap between wall and gate, the squeeze in Han's chest wasn't the thrill of hazard, but the breathless chill of alarm.

Stupid. Careless. Should've known better than to trust something as simple as a mechanical lock, even for the spare few moments he'd been gone. Of course metal would rust and wear quickly in Sokoto's climate. Hells, the humidity even worked a number on Luke's desert-bred lungs, until they'd decided that maybe three days was long enough for their seaside holiday.

He risked a glance across the ribbon of light spilling from the Falcon's lowered boarding ramp, squinting against the glare to protect his night vision. That squeeze in his chest clutched tighter as he strained all his senses for a hint of life inside the ship. He'd left Luke on board, readying her for departure. Unlikely as it seemed, the kid might've been taken unawares by intruders.

Natural instinct, honed by too many years of living on the edge of peril, took over between one heartbeat and the next. Blaster in hand, he dropped low and to the left, into the shadows hugging the inner wall of the bay. Han didn't need to hear or see anything to know someone else lurked in the gloom of the docking bay. Like a cold prickle on his skin, he felt another presence. 

So, a little farewell challenge from unfriendlies? Han stretched his mouth wide in a humorless grin. _Bring it on, fella. You just grabbed hold of the wrong tourist._

A shiver raised on his skin told Han his quarry was on the move, only the faintest stir of air bearing witness to stealth. The intruder had circled around, was on his left now. Probably close to the rear starboard strut. Han flipped through mental diagrams of the bay's layout -- good cover, clear field of fire -- this was real talent, not some local amateur.

Of course, a real pro wouldn't've let him get through the gate in the first place. Hot embers of rage sizzled in his gut. How frippin' long was it gonna take until they didn't have to watch their backs every damn second?

And where in all hells was Luke? Fear slithered down his spine, marking its passage with a cold shudder, distracting him for one fatal second.

No flash of optics, no guide beam, nothing to betray the intruder's intent, but Han flung himself aside anyway, every instinct he possessed screaming _too late, too late_! 

The blast landed square in his chest, knocking him further off-balance and against the wall. Hell of a thing, Han Solo going down without getting a single shot off… 

His vest shredded as he skidded down the coarse, crumbling permacrete, saving his back from being scraped half-raw. It didn’t protect him from some solid bruising but he hardly felt that through the sick dread twisting in his gut. Where was Luke?

_Move, Solo, move,_ he commanded himself, but his oxygen-deprived muscles responded sluggishly. He fumbled at his aching chest as he gasped for breath and counted the precious seconds speeding past.

His fingers scrabbled through an unpleasantly soggy, grainy mess on his chest, like a handful of wet sand. Understanding percolated after touch, a belated realization that his flesh was intact underneath the substance, no scorched skin, no holes in his precious hide. Just a very tender spot where he’d been blasted. 

Han could smell the sea strongly now, hauling in a sharp briny odor that just about singed the hair out of his nose with every labored wheeze. And kaffin, that flargin' impossible-to-find brand of kaffin Luke liked so damn much. That he'd just bought at that little café for a ridiculous price.

The slightest scuff of noise warned Han his opponent was on the move again. His blaster was no longer a comforting, solid presence in his right hand, impossible centimeters out of his reach. One quick stretch and roll, and the odds would be in his favor. He’d always been one lucky son of a—

But his luck had run out, because his adversary was right in front of him. Han’s vision tunneled down until all he could see was the finger crooked around the trigger. Some half-credit bounty hunter was gonna rack up free ale in every dive from here to Tatooine, telling about the night he brought Han Solo down. 

He wasn’t even gonna get the chance to say goodbye to Luke, to say all the things he’d figured didn’t need saying, because Luke already knew how he felt, but now the acid burn of regret climbed past the knot of unspoken feeling clogging his throat.

Knowing that his life was now measured in fractional increments, Han lifted his gaze to meet his killer’s eyes. Maybe the Goddess had deserted him, but courage hadn’t.

His adversary grinned, the very image of cheerful sadism, and pulled the trigger.

Han gaped up at Luke, every self-protective instinct gone on strike as relief and surprise collided and annihilated each other. The stream of water caught him full in the face, and it _hurt_. 

That did it. There’d be time later to catalog his incompetence – right now pride demanded payback. Reflexes hotwired by the excess adrenaline flooding his body, his body reacted with a will of its own. 

He almost made it, too, almost grabbed the water rifle away from Luke, but Luke had been ready for that and backstepped out of reach.

The playful kid Luke used to be stood before him, teeth and eyes gleaming out of the shadows, too close to a fantasy for Han to hang on to his annoyance. But there was no need to show that just yet. 

Han scooped up his blaster and tucked it back into the holster, wiping water from his stinging eyes with his left hand. No son of Corellia would let a little seawater slow him down.

“What’s that all over your shirt, Han?” Luke cocked his head just the way he had so long ago in that dreary cantina, only this time his expression shifted toward puzzlement, not flirtation or annoyance. 

“That,” Han brushed the sodden mess away as best he could, “used to be a present for you.” The touch of indignation in his voice wasn’t entirely for Luke’s benefit either. He’d been looking forward to a nice big mug of kaf flavored with chaca himself, small compensation for ending their holiday early. He tossed a handful of goop at Luke, and didn’t bother to hide a gleeful smirk when Luke didn’t quite manage to sidestep. 

Han then recouped his pride by snatching the water rifle when Luke raised a disdainful eyebrow at the stain blossoming on his tunic. 

Pasting his best threatening expression across his face, Han shot from the hip. 

Now dripping wet, Luke only grinned a challenge, snatched a second water gun from his belt and took off running like he’d just fired up afterburners.

“Tag, you’re it!”


End file.
